


You Could Stay

by Axis2ClusterB



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 00:36:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Axis2ClusterB/pseuds/Axis2ClusterB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one's fair to Oz, and he's tired of being fair to anyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Could Stay

**Author's Note:**

> S3/Post Lover's Walk

Devon doesn’t say anything, does just what Oz told him to during one smoky, pot-filled night not long after he started seeing Willow – pushes the curtains back and waits, lets Oz do the work. Oz smiles wryly, hoists himself through the window without an invitation and Devon breathes a little easier, even though he still isn’t positive that he completely believes the vampire thing. Not at the top of his brain, at any rate. His hindbrain, however, is pretty fucking convinced and then Oz is pressed to him, small and warm, and none of the rest of it matters.

Oz is so fucking still, the soft spikes of his hair brushing Devon’s chin, and then there’s this soft little sighing that Devon remembers from Oz sleeping beside him, and then the relaxation. “What’s wrong?” Devon asks, and what he means is ‘Who died?’ because this **is** Sunnydale. “What happened? Is Willow…” Because yeah. People who hang around with Buffy seem to have bad things happen to them.

“Xander,” Oz mumbles, and for a minute, Devon’s just confused, and then - oh.

“Oh.”

“Pretty much what I said.”   
+

Only that wasn’t it. There was the rest of it with Oz on autopilot; knowing he had to compartmentalize, had to get them all fucking out of there, and talking to Cordelia while she was down in that hole, bleeding and shocky and fuck, Oz had just known she was going to die on him, and then Willow’s hysterics in the van, and Oz couldn’t help but wonder why it was that she was entitled to them, and he was supposed to just be… okay. Okay with Xander in the back, okay with dropping him off, and then dropping her off, and feeling like a bastard for not having it in him to comfort her.

And now with Devon, who smells like pot and warmth and a safe fucking haven - maybe it’s Oz’s turn. He tries it on for size, just holding Dev and letting Dev hold him, and it fits pretty damn well. “Can I stay?” he asks quietly, and he can feel Devon nod above him.

+

Devon’s bed is warm; soft clean sheets and warm cotton comforter. Oz burrows deeper, sighs with something too empty to be contentment when Devon slides an arm across his waist and tugs him closer, presses his chest to Oz’s back. They’ve drowsed for an hour or so, and now Devon’s lips are moving at the nape of his neck, more hesitant than Oz has ever known him to be, gentle with Oz like no one else ever thinks to be.

He rolls over and tugs Devon even closer and Devon’s mouth moves warm and slick against his, licking until Oz opens his mouth and closes his eyes, gives himself over to it. Devon growls and Oz fucking **tastes** it, rolls to his back with Devon piling over on top of him. Oz spreads his legs and pushes his hips up, hard cock against hard cock and it’s been so long since they’ve done this. He’s missed it, hardness and surety and something so fucking male. Dev’s licking his throat now, biting down on his collarbone, pleasure and pain on the bare edge of too much; Oz giving it up and Devon taking control.

“More, please Dev, fuck, more…” If he’s honest with himself, Devon’s the only one who’s ever been able to get him like this, who knows him well enough to know what makes him beg.

“Easy, Oz, I’ve got you.” Devon shoves the thin t-shirt up and Oz pushes himself up just enough to yank it off and toss it before there’s a warm tongue flat against his nipple. Oz arches up hard – more please *anything* - and Devon’s small sharp teeth bite down. “Just let me…” Take care of you, so Oz knots his fists in soft cotton sheets as Devon slides down. Pause at Oz’s bellybutton, warm tongue fucking in and out of the small cup, Devon’s breath warm on his belly as he says, “Watch me.”

Oz pushes up on his elbows, heavy and slow like moving through honey, as Devon’s hands – big and callused in all the right places, chipped nail polish that Oz would like to redo – find his hips, push his sweatpants down. Oz barely recognizes the sounds twisting out of his own throat as Devon flashes one wicked grin – the first normal thing Oz has seen all night – and flicks his tongue over the head of Oz’s cock. Oz groans – “Just do it” – and Devon swallows him all the way down, swallows again and Oz is in his fucking throat, stretching and twisting, eyes going back as Devon does that **humming** thing, pushes against his perineum and Oz comes, bright fire dancing behind his closed eyelids as the sparks go off: one, two, three.

+

Oz’s body is still buzzing and disconnected as Devon kisses him, fierce and urgent and essential, rolling over Oz and Oz just opens for him. He’s not sure when Devon grabbed lube – he must’ve done that black out thing he sometimes does – but the finger working into him is slick and easy. Oz works with it, fucks his hips up and he hears Devon talking low and dirty, words not really sinking in, but fuck, the feeling is. 

“Now,” he gets out. Devon pulls back with worry crossing his face, under the dark need in his eyes, something about hurting Oz. That’s what Oz wants so he moves, shifts his hips until Devon’s cock is pressed hard against him, until Devon can’t do anything but push forward, sink himself.

It wasn’t enough and the pain is sharp, real and immediate. Oz drags his nails down Devon’s sweat-slick back and rides it, lets it bring him back to life, chase away the numbness that was starting to feel too natural. Devon growls something under his breath, something about **tight** and **slick** and **hot** , and Oz takes the words into his mouth, tongues them up, licks Devon’s jaw and his mouth and his throat as Devon pulls out, shoves forward, opening him like that. 

It’s too fucking good and Oz knows it won’t last, can feel it in the stutter of Devon’s pulse under his lips and something surfaces in him, wants to bite and tear, lets itself be pacified by sucking hard. Devon drops his face to Oz’s shoulder, slams forward one more time, all the way in and deeper as he comes and Oz shakes with him, throws his head back and lets himself loose.

+

Later, Devon brings out a pipe and Oz smokes with him, thick green pot sliding through his lungs and his blood and his brain, fogging everything up and making it all less important. He thinks he could just let this be everything, this room with Devon and the dim light and the pot and the bed, thinks he could let himself hide.

“You could stay,” Devon offers quietly, and Oz knows it’s about more than tonight. 

Knows he’s probably not being fair to Devon, just because no one’s being fair to him.

So he pretends he didn’t get it, even though they both know better, and curls up to sleep.

-End


End file.
